


Sanctity

by omfg_otp



Series: Zine pieces [3]
Category: Mystic Messenger (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ancient Greece, Arranged Marriage, M/M, Merchant!Jumin, Prince!Zen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-06
Updated: 2019-06-06
Packaged: 2020-04-11 12:15:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19109467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/omfg_otp/pseuds/omfg_otp
Summary: Being treated like a prize, like an object to be won, made Zen seethe. His reputation as ‘Aphrodite incarnate’ had spread across the lands, drawing royals and nobles from around the globe, making an attempt to win his hand. And not one of them had succeeded. Zen had sworn to himself that he would never give someone his hand in marriage unless they had won his heart first.But now, that philosophy was out of the window, as Zen had been forced to accept a stranger’s hand in exchange for his vast riches.Worse still Zen had yet to meet his husband to be, and they would be married within the week.





	Sanctity

**Author's Note:**

> This is my contribution to the [mysmelovethroughtheages](https://mysmelovethroughtheages.tumblr.com) zine! It's the most self indulgent thing I've ever written but I love it, and I hope you do too!

The rising sun brought the waking hustle and bustle of the city, a cacophony able to be heard from Prince Zen’s highest balcony. He surveys the capital with a heavy heart, knowing that after today, things would never be the same.

 

After years of failed courtships and attempted betrothals, Zen’s mother, the Empress, finally had enough of his reluctance to wed, and as such, arranged a marriage for the crown prince.

 

Zen couldn’t say this outcome surprised him, but he was far from happy. He knew that his future husband would be just the same as everyone else that had tried (and failed) to woo him.

 

Being treated like a prize, like an object to be won, made Zen seethe. His reputation as ‘Aphrodite incarnate’ had spread across the lands, drawing royals and nobles from around the globe, making an attempt to win his hand. And not one of them had succeeded. Zen had sworn to himself that he would never give someone his hand in marriage unless they had won his heart first.

 

But now, that philosophy was out of the window, as Zen had been forced to accept a stranger’s hand in exchange for his vast riches.

 

It was no secret that their country was beginning to crumble under the strain of financial pressure. Zen’s late father had made many poor choices, leading to an economic downfall. And now it was Zen’s job to pick up the pieces. Next month was his coronation, since turning 21, the ruling of the land would fall to him.

 

Worse still Zen had yet to meet his husband to be, and they would be married within the week.

 

In his heart of hearts, he’d always known it was never his fate to marry for love. But it was still a nice thought.

 

The vast ocean lay beyond the waking city, horizon burning with golden light. Zen spots a ship in the distance, dread filling his heart. His fiance was expected to arrive any day now, and Zen prayed that the ship on the horizon was merely a trading vessel. He would gladly take any amount of freedom he could get before the inevitable.

  
  


\---

  
  


Dressing for the day is, as always, more stress than it should be. One of his usual attendants is unwell, replaced by a younger, more inexperienced boy. He seems to be around Zen’s age and blushes as soon as Zen’s torso is bared. Zen finds this quietly amusing, and notes that the boy is rather cute. Perhaps he can still have some fun when he’s married; it’s not as though this reclusive and stuffy Lord Han will want much from him.

 

Other than his crown, of course.

 

Zen makes his way to breakfast, greeting his mother with a nod before he sits. Engrossed in a report, she barely notices him enter.

 

“You will be preparing for Lord Han’s arrival today, Zen.” His mother says when she’s finished reading. “We’ve received word of his ship spotted off the coast, he should be here by midday.”

 

“Yes, mother,” he says, mouth dry at the prospect of meeting the man he will spend the rest of his life with.

 

“It will be your job to show him around the palace and make sure he’s comfortable. This will be his new home from now on, so we need him to feel welcome.” She takes a sip of her tea, staring down at him over the rim. “I know how much you like to shirk your duties, but I will not allow that to happen today. You are to stick by his side at all times, are we clear?”

 

“Yes, mother.” Zen swallows around the lump in his throat, “I’m… taking this seriously. I know how important this union is. So you need not worry.”

 

She holds his gaze for a few more seconds, before nodding. “All right. Make sure you go and get ready to meet Lord Han after breakfast.”

 

She stands, and without a backwards glance, gracefully glides out of the room, handmaidens in tow.

 

Zen jumps up as soon as she’s out of sight, knowing he won’t be able to eat a single mouthful due to his nerves. No doubt the royal seamstresses will have ceremonial robes ready for him, specially commissioned by his mother, in which to meet his future husband.

 

He frowns at the thought, making his way through the palace to get dressed for the second time in as many hours.

  
  


\---

  
  


The fanfare that comes with Lord Han’s arrival is rather extreme, considering the man is merely the son of a merchant. Though perhaps his future title as Consort to the Emperor warrants a dramatic entrance to the palace.

 

Zen can’t find it in himself to care why, glancing at the rows of soldiers lining the palace steps. He hopes this spectacle will be over as quickly as possible, though he doesn’t have a chance of escaping his ‘one on one’ time with the Lord. He’d keep his promise to his mother, even if it meant enduring the ass-kissing and prideful boasting Zen has come to expect from every potential partner he’d met.

 

A sudden commotion beyond the castle gates draws Zen out of his thoughts, straightening his shoulders as the awaited carriage comes into view.

 

The whole courtyard seems to hold its breath as the carriage comes to a stop in front of the palace steps. The footman opens the door, revealing a slender man with dark hair. He is dressed in clothes that rival even the fine silks of the palace, which is no surprise if the rumours of the Han fortune can be believed.

 

The man ascends the steps, graceful in his movements. When he reaches the top, he bows to the Empress, and then to Zen.

 

“Welcome, Lord Han,” the Empress greets him, “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

 

“The pleasure is mine,” he replies, “I am honoured by your invitation.”

 

Both the Empress and Lord Han offer each other a stiff smile, and Zen can barely keep from rolling his eyes. He hates the pretense and formality that comes with official greetings.

 

“May I present my son, Prince Ryu Hyun.” The Empress continues. “He has been eagerly anticipating your arrival.”

 

_ That’s one way to put it, _ Zen thinks as he bows his head towards Lord Han in a show of respect. Instead of reciprocating, Lord Han offers him a hand.

 

Zen blinks in surprise, but takes the offered hand, knowing any hesitation on his part would mean disaster in the eyes of his mother.

 

Lord Han lifts Zen’s hand, barely brushing the back with his lips. “I have also been ardently awaiting our meeting, Prince Hyun. I hope I live up to your expectations.”

 

The actions and words are nothing he hasn’t seen and heard before, and Zen can’t help but feel slightly disappointed. This stranger is just like everyone else that had tried to win his hand.

 

“I am certain my expectations will fall short of the reality, my Lord. Regardless, allow me to escort you to your quarters. I’m sure you must be weary from weeks of travel.”

 

Zen sees his mother smile out of the corner of his eye, and he knows he’s doing well. He isn’t doing this for himself, he remembers, he’s doing this for his country.

 

“By all means, lead the way.” Lord Han tells him, still smiling though Zen can find no trace of emotion in his eyes.

 

Zen guides the Lord through the palace silently, overly aware of the man’s presence trailing behind him.

 

“You have a beautiful home.” Lord Han breaks the silence just as they’re walking through one of the many courtyards held within the palace. This particular courtyard houses a selection of rare plants and flowers, in full bloom thanks to the mild spring weather that has swept through the capital city for the past few weeks.

 

“Yes, the palace looks lovely this time of year.” Zen admits, smiling softly.

 

“Though the loveliness dulls compared to your beauty, Prince Hyun.” Lord Han states, and Zen can feel the smile fall from his face.

 

This damn rich Lord is everything he doesn’t want in a partner, smarmy and boot-licking, someone who just cares about his own wealth and social standing. Zen has seen it all before, time and time again. This man has practically bought his way into the royal family,  _ bought _ Zen’s hand in marriage, and there is nothing Zen can do to stop it. His country needs this man’s money to survive, and it was Zen’s duty to secure the deal.

 

“That is very kind of you, Lord Han. Thank you.” If his reply sounds forced, Zen couldn’t really care. He continues walking, wanting to drop this Lord off at his quarters as soon as possible.

 

There is no other talk along the way, Lord Han perhaps sensing Zen’s mood.

 

By the time they arrive at the large ornate doors of the palace’s best guest room, Zen has calmed down. He had known since he was a young child it would be his fate to marry for political gain, and now the time has come. He needs to suck it up and get on with it.

 

“Lord Han, I’d like to invite you to dine with me tonight.” Zen says, before they part ways.

 

“Of course, I would be honored.” He replies easily, though Zen can sense the man’s confusion.

 

Perhaps he  _ had _ been rather cold towards him on the way there.

 

“I will send an attendant to guide you to my quarters,” Zen tells him.

 

“In that case, I will look forward to tonight.” Lord Han bid him a farewell, bowing to him before entering his room.

 

Zen can’t help but breathe a sigh of relief when he’s alone, berating himself for acting so rashly. He needs to keep this man happy and satisfied. His mother is right, it would not do to make an enemy out of his future husband.

 

\---

  
  


After informing his mother of his dinner plans, Zen makes his way back to his own quarters to bathe, wanting to relax before what will inevitably be an excruciatingly awkward meal.

 

He sinks slowly into the water of his private baths, sighing in pleasure as it washes over his body.

 

Ah, he needed this. Leaning back and closing his eyes, he allows the oils mixed in with the water to work their magic, loosening his tense muscles. Though, however relaxed his body is, the water does nothing to ease his mind.

 

Thoughts of his fiance bubble to the surface, and even with the little time they’ve spent together, Zen can tell he will find this man insufferable. He had no doubt been raised with a silver spoon in his mouth, wanting for nothing, given everything he’d ever wished for, and now expected the same of Zen.

 

Zen frowns at the thought. He had been wholly unprepared for this, though now it was unavoidable. He needed a plan.

 

There was the option of telling this stranger exactly what Zen expected of their ‘deal’. He could tell Lord Han to leave the ruling to him and only show up for royal obligations. That would suit Zen just fine, though he would risk offending the Lord.

 

He could also walk on eggshells, complimenting and flattering him, just as the other man had been doing. Zen felt vaguely nauseous at the thought.

 

Perhaps the best option for both of them would be to keep Lord Han at arm's length? After all, they are strangers to each other, even marriage won’t change that. Their whole engagement was a business deal, after all. Treating it as such would not go amiss.

 

Regardless, Lord Han was here to stay, and whatever he decided to do, he would be stuck with that decision for the rest of his life.

  
  


\---

  
  


Lord Han arrives to dinner only a few minutes after Zen had sent an attendant to fetch him. He is dressed in far less opulent clothing than what he arrived in, though Zen can still tell they are of fine quality. Zen is glad he himself had worn more casual clothes as well.

 

Lord Han greets him with another hand kiss, and Zen barely suppresses his sneer.

 

“Good evening, Prince Hyun. I am grateful for the invitation to dine with you tonight.”

 

“And I am grateful to you, Lord Han, for being here with me.” Zen leaves this statement ambiguous, hoping the Lord will believe his gratuity extends not only to their dinner, but to the situation as a whole.

 

The Lord smiles at him, though as before, Zen can tell no amusement reaches his eyes.

 

“If we are to be married it would please me greatly if you would call me Jumin.”

 

“Then I shall do so, Jumin,” Zen responds demurely, “And you may call me Zen.”

 

Jumin lifts his brow at the statement confused by his nickname. Zen chuckles at the look, escorting both of them to the dinner table whilst explaining,

 

“Zen was a name given to me when I was a child, by our country’s elders. It’s a name only used by close friends and family but given our situation, you should probably know me by that name as well.”

 

It was a decision Zen had come to whilst mulling everything over in the baths.

 

“In that case, it would be an honour to know you as such, Zen.” The fake smile still sits among his perfectly handsome features as Jumin studies him across the dinner table, attendants bustling about the room, pilling all manner of dishes in front of them.

 

Zen helps himself, knowing that Jumin won’t eat until he does. All people of noble birth are taught how to behave among royalty, and Jumin is no different despite his lavish upbringing.

 

“So Jumin,” Zen begins, after most of the attendants had left the room. “Tell me of your voyage across the seas, I hope it wasn’t too taxing for you?”

 

“Hardly,” Jumin replies, “I am used to making long journeys, as I often negotiate trade in my father’s stead.”

 

“Then you have seen a great deal more of the world than me, I suppose. It must be fun.” Zen smiles wistfully at the thought of traveling around the globe.

 

“Fun isn’t a word I would use. As I said, I only travel when my father needs me to, for business purposes. I rarely have time to ‘see the sights’.”

 

Zen frowns at the thought. Even if he were visiting a country for business, Zen would be sure to make time for pleasure as well. Although he can relate to the thought of trying to appease an overbearing parent.

 

“And in any case,” Jumin continues, “From now on I won’t be working for my Father’s company.”

 

That statement brings the conversation to an abrupt halt. Zen feels he should address the elephant in the room even if it disrupts the perfectly balanced cordiality of the conversation so far.

 

“I hope you find as much happiness here as you do working with your father,” Zen tries instead, not wanting to break that particular piece of ice right now.

 

Jumin’s reaction to his words are far from what he’d expected.

 

“Happiness is not a factor in this scenario.”

 

Zen spends a second processing that statement, and a second longer wondering if he truly means it.

 

“You don’t want to find happiness here?” Zen asks and instantly wishes he could take it back. He needs to stop being so emotional in this situation, though something about Jumin makes it hard.

 

“It’s not a question of wanting, more of an expectation. The transaction between my family and yours is merely a business deal after all.”

 

Zen balks at the word ‘transaction’. He is intellectually aware that his hand was being bought, but knowing it and hearing it said out loud were two entirely different things.

 

His composure was well and truly out of the window, along with his decorum.

 

“There’s nothing wrong with wanting to be happy, especially if you’re  _ marrying _ the person you’re doing a deal with.”

 

Jumin blinks at him for a second before replying cooly, “I didn’t say there was something wrong with it, just that I didn’t want it for myself. If you want to feel that way then be my guest.”

 

Zen sneers at him, knowing that arguing would not help the situation in the slightest, but finding it difficult to hold back.

 

“I doubt I could ever find happiness with a person like you.”

 

“Then neither of us have anything to worry about.” Jumin drains the wine in his cup before standing, “I look forward to securing our deal in a weeks' time.” He then bows in a perfect show of respect, and leaves the room, the door closing behind him.

 

Zen is fuming, and the thought of marrying such a cold and unemotional man makes his heart sink. Surely, even a groveling bootlicker would be better than this?

 

And yet, for his mother, his country, his people, he must go through with it. He  _ has _ to marry Lord Han.

  
  


\----

  
  


In the week leading up to the ceremony, Zen barely sees Jumin. This was partly due to his own avoidance tactics, though wedding preparations were also eating into the majority of his time. Surprisingly, this came as a blessed relief, knowing it was the perfect excuse to tell his mother why he wasn’t spending time with Jumin.

 

Zen had as many as three fittings per day, the seamstresses working around the clock to perfect his wedding robes. He spent hours in the kitchens, tasting dish after dish, and deciding whether to include them in the banquet. There was also the flowers, decorations, and entertainment to think of, not to mention the guest list. Every noble in the country had been invited, and many more from overseas. Zen couldn’t help but note that Lord Han Senior had declined the invitation. He was rather curious why Lord Han would miss his own son’s wedding, though not curious enough to ask Jumin himself.

 

The day of the wedding comes all too soon, and Zen is helped into his perfected robes by no less than five people including, surprisingly, his mother. She herself looks stunning in robes woven with gold, matching the laurel wreaths resting on top of her head.

 

She dismisses the attendants as soon as they’re finished, leaving the two of them alone. It is a rare occurrence these days, having the attention of his mother solely directed on himself.

 

“I’m proud of you for doing this, Zen.” She says, her tone unemotional, though he can see the truth of her words in her eyes.

 

“Thank you, mother.” He knows these words of support are the only ones he will get from her. She nods once, looking him over for any imperfections. When she finds none, she nods again.

 

“Let’s go.”

 

She leads him right to the doors of the throne room, where the ceremony is taking place. He can hear the murmur of voices coming from the room beyond and knows that 400 of the country’s most influential people are about to witness him being married off to the son of a wealthy merchant to  save their dying economy. It’s rather humiliating, but he holds his head high as his mother is announced. The doors swing open, and she walks forward.

 

It’s then his turn, walking just as soon as the announcer finishes. After a week of intense preparations, this is it. Zen just wants to get it over with.

 

He barely remembers the handfasting, instead focusing on his role, saying ‘I do’ repeatedly.

 

Their hands are threaded together with a shiny silver band of silk, and Zen knows that traditionally this piece of cloth is not to be removed for the rest of the night, though he’s sure that tradition will be broken just as soon as they’re alone together.

 

The banquet flies by in a similar fashion, and being tied together whilst trying to eat is an awkward problem that Zen eventually fixes by shoving their joined hands down onto the tabletop and leaving them there, instead of trying to tug at each other until the silk cuts into their skin.

 

When the banquet winds down and Zen has had enough of the congratulatory small talk, he pulls Jumin from the room with a wicked smirk at the remaining guests, causing a few laughs and even a wolf whistle.

 

The smirk falls just as soon as they’re alone in the hallway, and Zen doesn’t hesitate to grab Jumin’s hand and pull him towards his quarters.

 

He slams the door behind them with a loud bang, wheeling around and pulling at the loose ends of the silk cloth, suddenly desperate to get the thing off.

 

Jumin stills his fumbling hand with one of his own, undoing the cloth with ease.

 

Zen clenches his jaw as he watches the piece of cloth flutter to the ground, wondering if it was too poetic of him to equate that image to his situation right now.

 

Jumin clears his throat, “Now we’re no longer bound, I’ll be saying goodnight,” he says, stepping towards the door.

 

“Woah, wait a second!” Zen says, trying to block his exit. “You can’t leave, you need to stay here tonight.”

 

Jumin looks at him for a second.

 

“I’m flattered that you would like to consummate our ‘marriage’ however I must decline-”

 

“Bastard, it’s not like I want to have sex with you any more than you want to have sex with me!” Zen hisses at him, “We need to make people  _ think _ we’re having sex, otherwise this whole marriage will be for nothing!”

 

Zen glares at Jumin, who seems to mull over the issue in his head.

 

“Fine,” Jumin says eventually.

 

“I had an extra bedroom made up for you next to mine.” Zen gestures to the open door next to the dining room. “Sleep well.” He spins on his heel, endeavoring to leave before he does something stupid like try to strangle his new husband with their handfasting cloth.

 

“Wait.” Jumin says, just as Zen reaches his bedroom door. He pauses, wanting nothing more than to slip through and collapse onto his bed. But he turns instead, facing Jumin who is staring down at the piece of silk discarded on the floor. He picks it up, and walks slowly towards Zen, a small frown worrying his brow.

 

“I realize that we probably got off on the wrong foot.”  _ That’s an understatement,  _ “I didn’t mean to anger you when I said happiness had no bearing on our marriage, I…” He trails off, and Zen holds himself back from interrupting. He’s curious why Jumin would bring this up. “I confess that throughout this whole ordeal I haven’t ever given a thought to what exactly it is that I’m doing. When my father asked me to do this, I considered it another duty I needed to fulfill, and in doing so, neglected to realize that I am now in fact… married.”

 

“Well,” Zen says carefully, not understanding what Jumin was telling him. He thought getting married was the same as any business deal his father asks him to complete? “It sounds like you’ve only just realized that being married to a prince changes things for you.”

 

“Yes, I suppose that’s true.” The weariness in his voice exposes how vulnerable he must really feel, and for the first time, Zen is seeing the cracks in his mask of professionalism. “I didn’t consider the consequences that would affect the  _ both _ of us, in this situation.”  

 

“In that case,” Zen tells him, “Come back to me, once you finally figure it out.”

  
  


\----

  
  


Their wedding night was spent apart, as was every other night. Jumin stayed in Zen’s quarters, keeping up the pretense they were sleeping together. It was rather awkward at first, taking meals together in the dining room, and bumping into each other in the hallway. It became easier though, as they slowly became more familiar with one another, even exchanging smiles once in a while.

 

They hardly spent any time together though, and for once that had nothing to do with Zen. It was his schedule to blame, since his upcoming coronation had him running about the palace, trying to plan the ceremony, and shadow the Empress in all her state meetings, at the same time. He barely had time to think, let alone talk to his husband.

 

Jumin seemed altogether far too amused with the situation which came to a head as Zen was getting fitted for his ceremonial robes. The seamstresses were deciding between three different lace, arguing between each one, causing Zen’s temple to throb with an oncoming headache.

 

Jumin was reclining on a couch not too far away, surveying the situation with his glacial stare.

 

“I hope the fittings for your wedding robes weren’t as chaotic as this,” he says, a smirk tugging at his lips.

 

“The wedding robes were worse,” Zen replies darkly. Jumin chuckles at his response.

 

“I don’t understand the fuss personally, It’s not like it matters.”

 

The seamstresses stop bickering at that, looking towards Jumin in shock. Zen barely stops himself from striding over to Jumin and decking him in the face.

 

“Of course it  _ matters _ ,” Zen fumes, “This is my coronation!”

 

“I know.” Jumin stands abruptly, approaching Zen, “But it hardly matters which specific lace you use. I’m sure if all you wore was a potato sack, you’d still look as stunning as ever.”

 

Jumin stops in front of him, and Zen stares down at him in shock, wondering just what on earth was going through his head. Jumin had stopped his vapid compliments on his first day here. Why start them again now?

 

He’s just about to ask, when he hears the seamstresses giggle.

 

“Leave us, all of you,” he tells them, not taking his gaze off Jumin.

 

They leave in a hurry, still giggling quietly to themselves. When the door closes behind them, Zen returns his attention to Jumin, who is looking at him with a familiar smirk.

 

“You need not do that, you know,” Zen tells him firmly, “In fact, I’d rather you didn’t.”

 

“You don’t want me to call you beautiful?” Jumin asks, his smirk turning into confusion.

 

“No, I don’t.”

 

“But it’s the truth.” Jumin’s tone is so sincere it makes Zen flinch.

 

“I don’t care, I don’t want you to say stuff like that!” Overcome with the urge to get the hell out of there, Zen jumps down from the footstool and marching over to his bedroom. Or at least, he tries to before Jumin blocks his way, reaching out to grasp both his shoulders to keep him from escaping.

 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you… don’t like me saying things like that.” Jumin tries to meet his eyes. “I won’t do it again, but I would like to know why I need to refrain from calling my own husband beautiful.”

 

Zen scowls at that, but can’t find it in himself to fight Jumin off. He slumps in Jumin’s hold, knowing he’s just as stubborn as himself, and won’t be easily deterred.

 

“It’s not personal, so no need to be offended,” Zen mutters. Jumin stays silent, and Zen takes that as a request to continue. “Look, before your showed up with your hoard of money to buy my hand in marriage, I had a lot of suitors vying for the position. Every noble man and woman clamored for my attention, raining endless praises and compliments upon me in the hope I’d give them everything they wanted,” Zen clenches his fists at the memory of so many vague faces, with fake smiles to match their fake words, all to satisfy their own greed.

 

“They wanted my crown, money, and status. They looked at me like a trophy, a  _ thing _ to be owned, not a person. They called me beautiful and stunning and perfect, but all they saw was a way to accumulate power and wealth.” Zen finally looks up and meets Jumin’s eyes. He seems surprised by the outburst, and Zen feels a sick sense of satisfaction at the thought.

 

“I suppose,” Jumin says, after a few moments of silence, “that your aversion to compliments makes sense in that context.”

 

“I’m glad you agree with me,” Zen tells him dryly.

 

“However, you seem to forget,” Jumin continues, “I don’t actually want anything from you.”

 

Zen gapes at him for a second, that infuriating smirk returning to his lips.

 

“I already have wealth and power, and you’ve already married me, so it’s not like I’m vying for your hand,” Jumin says airily. “Which brings me back to my previous point: I’d like to compliment my own husband without fearing that he punches me for my trouble.”

 

Zen growls, and  _ almost _ does punch the bastard, but Jumin quickly grabs his wrists to stop him before he can even try.

 

“Zen, truly, I’m not saying this to make you angry.” The sincerity in the statement gives Zen pause. Jumin is still holding Zen’s hands close to his chest, frowning at them with a foreign look in his eyes, far from the cold look that usually lingers there. “I want nothing from you, except perhaps the opportunity to compliment you, on occasion. Would that be acceptable, to you?”

 

Zen doesn’t know if it’s the tone of his voice, his expression, or a mixture of both, but somehow, he believes Jumin.

 

“Fine,” he mumbles. “But I want something in return.”

 

Jumin looks at him quizzically, and Zen asks the question that has been eating away at him since the wedding.  

 

“I want to know why your father didn’t come to our wedding.”

 

Jumin looks at him with shock, then his expression goes blank, gaze as cold and calculating as the day he arrived.

 

“Why would you want to know something like that?” Jumin lets him go, taking a step backwards, and Zen suddenly feels bereft.

 

“Because I want to know what kind of man would order his son to marry someone in a far off land and then skip the wedding. Is he ill or something?”

 

“No, he isn’t ill,” Jumin tells him with a scowl, “And he didn’t  _ order _ me to marry you, he asked me to do it and I said yes.”

 

“That hardly matters at this point,” Zen tells him with a frown, “And it doesn’t explain why he wasn’t here.”

 

“It’s none of your business, Hyun.”

 

Zen grits his teeth at the use of his first name. Jumin had only used it a couple of times since they’d known each other, and it was mostly when he was serious about something.

 

“I don’t care if it’s my business, I want to know why my  _ father-in-law _ wasn’t at my wedding.” Zen sneers at the familial title, knowing his pettiness would just wind Jumin up.

 

Rather than getting angry as Zen had expects, Jumin deflates, running a hand through his hair, eyes flickering around the room as if searching for a way out of the conversation. When he seems to realize Zen would not let him out of this, he sighs deeply,

 

“He didn’t come because he had business to take care of in another kingdom.”

 

Zen should’ve expected that response, but it still takes him by surprise.

 

“Business?”

 

“Yes.” Jumin looks uncomfortable at the thought of talking about his Father. “He had trade negotiations that fell in the same week as the wedding.”

 

“And he chose his business over you?” Zen winces as the words leave his mouth, but Jumin only chuckles.

 

“Not really. He considers this union between us part of his business, so in his eyes, he is not choosing between anything. Though you should hardly find that so surprising, I was of the same mind before I met you, Zen.”

 

“Yes, I remember.” Zen scoffs, recollecting the first meal they ate together, and the disaster that followed.

 

“It doesn’t matter anymore, though,” Jumin tells him quietly, “Because I’m not by his side now, I’m here instead. And this is where I’d like to stay.”

 

Zen raises his brow at the admission, hesitating to push him too far, but still wanting to ask, anyway.

 

“And are you happy here?”

 

“No.” Jumin has an unreadable expression on his face. “But I could be.”

  
  


\---

  
  


Zen breathes in the warm night air, leaning against the marble balcony that overlooks the city. The gold laurels that rest on top of his silver locks bear more of a burden than just their weight. Was he truly ready for this?

 

His marriage, and all the drama surrounding it, had mostly distracted him from the fact he was now expected to rule over this land. Him and Jumin together. It was only in the past few weeks they were able to stay in the same room as each other without throwing insults, and now they were expected to run a country?

 

Not for the first time Zen wonders what exactly his mother was thinking of when she had arranged this.

 

The money, probably.

 

“Thinking of running away?” Jumin’s voice startles him out of his thoughts. He turns, casting his husband a cold look at the mocking words.

 

“Not running. My duty comes before everything,” Zen replies with honesty.

 

“Good.” Jumin steps closer to him, casually scanning the horizon. “Because neither of us can escape the destiny our parents have laid out for us.”

 

Not for the first time, Zen feels a wave of guilt at his actions before, and after, their wedding. He hadn’t realized back then, but none of this was Jumin’s doing. He was as much a victim of circumstance as Zen was himself.

 

Crossing his arms, Zen turns back to the city, though he can feel Jumin’s gaze boring into him.

 

“I’ve accepted my fate,” he says finally, “I’ve known since I was a child that this day would arrive, eventually. My duty will always be to this kingdom.”

 

“You don’t have to do it alone though.” Jumin places a hand on his shoulder, gently pulling him so they were eye to eye again. “I know you think I’m merely a bargaining chip in my father’s business empire.” Zen goes to interrupt, but Jumin halts his protests. “I know you think that way, so don’t bother denying it. But you fail to see, I have dreams and ambitions that are more important to me than power and gold. My life has been rather meaningless, with my father’s riches able to conjure my every desire, servants to tend to my every need. It is a dull, boring existence with no excitement or challenge to speak of.”

 

“Is that what I am to you? A challenge?” Zen asks hotly.

 

“I’m sure you will be the biggest challenge of my life,” Jumin says with a spark of amusement in his eyes.

 

And somehow, that statement brings a blush to Zen’s cheeks.

 

“The point is,” Jumin continues, “I understand this situation is far from ideal, and the future may be entirely unclear, but I’m willing to put aside our differences, and face it head on. Because- with work on both our parts- I think we might make a good team.”

 

Zen stares at him for a second, those dark eyes burning with undeniable passion.

 

“A good team.” He repeats, rather taken aback. The thought of having a partner, someone to rely on, was something he had never considered. “I didn’t take you as much of an optimist.”

 

Jumin huffs, shaking his head in annoyance. “Hyun, you have given me something that, despite all the riches in the world, I have never once owned.”

 

Zen blinks in confusion.

 

“You have given me  _ hope _ .”

 

“Oh.”

 

They stand in silence, Zen carefully considering the man before him. His  _ husband _ .

 

“You wish to… support me? In my role as King?” Zen asks, taking a slight step forward.

 

“Yes.”

 

“And you wish to serve the people, just as I am expected to do?” Another step.

 

“Yes.”

 

“And, you wish to do all of this, despite the fact it was forced upon you.” A final step forward finds them within inches of each other.

 

“Yes,” Jumin answers, voice as steady as ever. “I do.”

 

Zen smiles at the words, comparing them to their wedding day vows. Jumin had been so closed off, almost statuesque. But now, there was fire behind his eyes, and passion in his heart. Zen could  _ feel _ it.

 

“And,” he continues, after a beat of silence, “Is there anything else… you’d wish gain from this partnership?”

 

Zen watches as the meaning behind his words are caught, panicking as Jumin’s expression morphs into a small frown.

 

“Gain?” Jumin says quietly. “No, there’s nothing I’d want to ‘gain’… nor ‘own’, nor ‘posses’. I’d much rather ‘care for’, and ‘cherish’, and even perhaps ‘adore’.”

 

A flush makes its way to Zen’s cheeks, and he suddenly gets an overwhelming urge to show his appreciation to his husband in the form of a clumsy, and hurried kiss.

 

Jumin makes a surprised grunt as their lips meet, but Zen takes no notice. Instead, he brings his arms to wrap around his husband’s broad shoulders, willing to have him closer.

 

Jumin soon catches up, bringing his hands to cup Zen’s jaw, guiding him wordlessly. The kiss develops into something slower, and more lustful. Zen can’t help but let out a slight whimper at the feeling of Jumin running a hand through his hair.

 

Their kiss comes to an abrupt halt, as the ringing sound of metal hitting stone can be heard. They break apart to find Zen’s golden laurels on the ground beside them, which causes Zen to burst into a fit of laughter.

 

And as Jumin rolls his eyes, bending down to fetch the laurels, Zen knows in that moment, that he will be just fine.

 

_ They  _ will be just fine.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm working on a longer JuZen fic, but i'm not really sure how popular this ship really is, so let me now if you'd want more of them from me!


End file.
